The trees, gnarled and twisted into shapes of eternal agony, seemed to lean inward as Hebner Grand strode through the thick, cloying fog. The air was frigid, yet it carried the heavy, cloying scent of damp earth and centuries-old decay.
"Keep up, human," Hebner commanded, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that cut through the gloom. "The spectral stags do not wait for the slow-footed. We are deep within the hunting grounds now. If you wander, the forest will claim you before I even notice you are gone."
Hannah stumbled behind him, her boots sinking into the petrified moss that felt disturbingly like flesh beneath her feet. The bag on her shoulder felt like a lead weight. Around them, the silence was absolute—until it wasn't.
